60. The Lighter Side of Undead Invasions

Finian picked idly at the lyre's strings, wincing as every couple notes came out sounding like they'd been picked specifically to sound the most discordant possible.

It had been a surprise when Sarel had presented him with the finely carved Dalish lyre—a gift for putting the curse to rest. Apparently, it had belonged to the storyteller's late wife, and Finian hadn't had the heart to turn the gift down.

"If I may be so bold, my friend, may I ask who taught you to play in such a… distinctive manner?" The assassin's Antivan accent always made him shiver a little bit, because damn. "I fear that I might need to track them down and murder them, so that they do not spread such a technique to other people."

Finian smirked, glancing up at the man walking beside him. "No one taught me… I'd never touched a lyre in my life before a couple days ago." He turned back to his instrument, plucking out a string of notes that didn't sound half bad. "But there is a minstrel who's supposed to meet us in Redcliffe. I'm hoping she can teach me."

"Ah. It is a good thing then, that we are almost there, yes? I would so hate to have to smash such a beautifully made instrument."

There was a snigger from behind them. "You know, I think the assassin's growing on me."

Finian turned his head to look at Kazar, who, despite his protests that he didn't need charity from any Dalish, was still wearing the Keepers' robes which Lanaya had presented him with. Like the lyre, the defensively-enchanted robes were a gift for fixing the curse, and also to replace those Finian himself had torn.

Fin suppressed a wince at that thought and turned back around, once again consuming himself in practicing the instrument. He could see Meila and the white wolf—dubbed 'Fang' at some point—ranging ahead, scouting for friends and foes alike. Every time he glimpsed the wolf, a spike of shame shot through him. So far, though, he'd done well at hiding it from his companions.

The four of them had been traveling out of Lothering for a couple days, now, and could see Lake Calenhad in the distance to their right. It wouldn't be long before they reached the keep. Fin hoped that then, at least, he could have a moment of privacy to thoroughly freak out. Bottling it up for so long could not be healthy.

It wasn't just the long, horrid hours he'd spent as a werewolf, consumed by a monstrous rage. It wasn't even just the fact that he'd attacked his companions, nearly killing Kazar. No, the most terrifying thought about the entire ordeal had been right before his transformation. The awful things that had just... poured out of his mouth, verbal barbs meant to hurt his companions. He hadn't known he was capable of such cruelty... that the things he noticed about other people could be turned into weapons like that.

And then, there was the most terrifying part of all. Meila and Kazar had said they weren't mad at him for manipulating them into allying with the werewolves, and the scary thing was… neither was he.

In his feverish, temperamental state of mind, he had coldly weighed the possibilities, predicting his companions' actions on their personalities and motives. He'd weighed them against his own, and he'd spoken a couple words that would best prompt each to do what he wanted them to, even if he wouldn't be there to direct them at the time. All this was done in a flash of insight, laid bare by the raw emotions summoned up by the curse.

And Finian wasn't sorry he'd done it. He was horrified, certainly, but not sorry. It had most likely saved his companions' lives, as well as the lives of any of the werewolves that they might have killed before being slain themselves.

And right before he'd changed... the thought had crossed his mind that he was glad he'd been cursed. Because it meant the two stubborn Wardens were far more inclined to try lifting the curse instead of simply slaughtering the beasts.

Garott had called it far before Finian could have realized: he was one manipulative son of a nug. And he wasn't sorry. He would do it again. Because it had saved lives.

He glanced over at the assassin now. The Antivan hummed quietly to himself, seemingly just so he didn't have to hear Fin's lyre. The acquisition of the assassin had been a calculated move on his part. No pretense. No lying to himself. He had straight-up worked the situation like clay, and now they had a trained assassin who was willing to kill Loghain for them, if need be.

Something in Finian quailed at that thought of sending an assassin to eliminate their foe, and perhaps that was why he hadn't sent the Crow to do exactly that. No, for now, the assassin was merely a card up the sleeve they could pull out as necessary. No need to show their tricks so early in the game.

Fin wondered how far he could take his silver tongue. What else could he lie about and still get positive results? Could a couple words in the right ear stop the civil war? Could a proper application of sheer charisma help them rally forces for the Blight?

His silver tongue was his greatest weapon. Why shouldn't he use it, if the results benefited the common good? Grey Wardens did what had to be done to stop the Blight; that's what Duncan had always said. So what if that meant pulling a couple strings, to make it so?

This realization about himself thoroughly freaked him out, but he didn't dare show any of it to his companions.

They saw the castle in the distance as the sun was setting, the stone walls in stark silhouette against the twilight sky. It would likely take another hour, at least, for them to reach it.

"We should make camp here," Meila said, coming back from scouting as the sun touched the horizon. The four stopped in the middle of the mountain path. "We can go the rest of the distance tomorrow."

"Why not go the rest of the distance tonight?" Kazar asked irritably, leaning on his staff. "I, for one, thoroughly miss sleeping in a bed."

"Maybe they'll be low on rooms at the inn, and we'll all have to share a bed," Zevran said with exaggerated hopefulness.

Kazar snorted. "Did you hear the word 'sleep', assassin? That was my operative word. Something tells me what you have in mind is anything but. Also, ew."

Finian sniggered. "I think I'm insulted. You don't think I'm handsome, Kazar?"

Zevran grinned. "I, for one, think you're quite handsome," he purred theatrically. "Though not as handsome as I, of course."

"Of course."

"I swear I'm going to blast you both," Kazar said flatly. "Right in your handsome faces if need be."

Fin and Zevran both laughed. The assassin, he'd found, appreciated the sport of riling the mage as much as anyone else, though he was careful not to do it unless Finian initiated. A good self-preservation instinct, as far as Fin was concerned.

The flirting was something that had emerged over the last couple days. The assassin flirted blatantly with all three of them, despite the fact that both Meila and Kazar were obviously not interested.

As for Finian… well, the other elf certainly was handsome. And that accent was just short of hypnotic. If the other elf made a serious offer, Fin didn't see any reason he'd turn it down... who knew, it may serve as a welcome distraction from a certain... other companion of his. But as far as he could tell, the assassin's flirtations were just that, merely meant to tease and play. There was no real guarantee that Zevran was even inclined toward men, and Finian wasn't going to make any moves until he knew that for sure.

Sex was a touchy subject in Ferelden, particularly when it involved anything other than a man and a woman in a Chantry-ordained marriage bed. Finian didn't know much about Antivan thoughts on the subject, but he didn't want to insult their new companion by making any assumptions one way or another. So, for now, he just played along.

Meila was frowning impatiently... she had once again become cold and detached since the Crow had joined them. Fin turned to her. "Many inn doors have locks, Meila. If we sleep in Redcliffe, you won't have to stay up all night, staring at Zevran's tent in case he decides he's changed his mind about murdering us."

Meila stiffened guiltily. "What is to stop him from sneaking into our rooms? He claims he can pick locks."

"Exactly. Claims."

"Ah, Warden, I am wounded by your lack of faith in my abilities."

Fin cast the Crow an incredulous look. "The chest near the spiders' nest."

A shameless grin met him. "It was a difficult lock."

"The bandit stash."

"My pick broke."

"The child's lockbox."

"I was struck by conscience, and could not bear to open so private a treasure."

Fin smirked and turned back to Meila. "He can't pick locks. Also, he's an awful liar."

"If I am so awful at lying, then why did you believe me when I told you I could pick locks in the first place, hm?"

Meila sighed and nonetheless turned to head back up the path toward the distant castle. The other three followed behind.

"It's lucky Fin's got his kit," Kazar snarked. "If stuck with the Crow, we wouldn't be able to open our own eyes without a key."

"Ah, at generating eye-opening experiences, I am quite skilled," Zevran quickly rejoined, still grinning. "Care for a demonstration, my young friend?"

"Sure, if I can demonstrate on you what I do to lecherous old men who can't take 'no' for an answer. Here's a hint: it involves a very specific application of ice magic."

"Ah. Yes, I can see how that would be quite effective at making your point. Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a very convincing Crow interrogator?"

"Has anyone ever told you 'shut up'?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact. Many times. Yet I am quite incorrigible, or so I have been told."

"You know what? Me saying earlier that your were growing on me? Yeah, I take that back. Except maybe growing like some awful fungus that's difficult to get rid of."

Up ahead of them, Meila stopped walking and drew her bow, and the rest of them immediately forgot the conversation and fell silent. Finian had often wondered why Meila's sense for danger seemed so much keener than the rest of them, but, with how often it had saved their hides, he wasn't complaining.

Finian slipped the lyre's strap around his back and stepped up lightly to draw even with the archer, who had her bow raised toward something ahead of them. Ten feet in front of her, Fang growled, hackles raised at something Fin couldn't see.

Then, figures lumbered toward them over the crest of the hill, and something about their jerky, slow movements made Finian shiver.

"What is that?"

"Undead," Meila said softly.

"What?" Kazar came up next to them on the archer's other side. "You can't be serious. Why would there be undead here?"

"Believe me, da'lethallin, once you've seen walking corpses, you do not forget them. Those are undead, without doubt."

"Then it seems it falls to us to make them redead, yes?" Zevran chuckled, twirling his sword and dagger in lazy circles.

Fin smirked, his own daggers springing into his palms with a twist of his wrists. "Is killing the already dead covered in Crow training, assassin?"

"Not as such, no. But one would think the principle is the same, yes?"

Kazar snorted. "Let's test that, shall we?" The mage swept his staff forward, and a lightning bolt crackled through the darkness.

Fin blinked away the after-image of the bolt, and saw the crackling glow of electricity still bouncing around the cluster of undead. The creatures jerked and screeched as bolts streaked between them, and Fin could see smoke rising against the twilit sky.

And then, to Fin's surprise, they continued shambling toward them, as if nothing had happened.

Meila's bowstring twanged, taking one through the throat. It didn't even slow down.

"Guess not," the Crow tsked. He waggled his eyebrows at Fin. "Shall we, my deadly little Warden?"

Fin nodded and they ran forward together, meeting the shambling corpses with blades spinning. Fin plunged his daggers into one corpse's eye sockets, and then ducked as it swiped out at him with open hands in the next moment. He slid around behind it, slicing its neck half off. It lurched to the side, and Fin rolled to dodge a strike from another corpse.

A moment later, that corpse was encased in ice, its rotting flesh made brittle with frost. Fin leapt in and stabbed his daggers into the two delicate points at the shoulders, and the brittle ice fractured and cracked. The entire thing shattered, leaving a gooey mess on the ground that had Zevran laughing something along the lines of, "Must you show off so blatantly, Warden?"

The assassin wasn't doing badly himself. His sword certainly seemed to be doing more damage on the creatures than Fin's daggers. Still, Finian wasn't about to be outdone by the Crow. He moved swiftly to his next opponent, dodging easily between a pair of the slow-moving monsters.

His next opponent was the one with Meila's arrow in its throat. He reached up to grip that arrow and pulled the corpse around, making it stumble as it sluggishly tried to correct its weight. With his free hand, he stabbed it four times in quick succession along the spine, then kicked it to the ground, where it twitched and moaned, but seemed unable to stand again.

Then, fire blasted behind him, and two of the creatures went down in flames. This left one last corpse standing, already blinded by an arrow sticking out of each eye. Zevran and Finian raced against one another to take it down, and it finally collapsed as the assassin's two-handed slash cut its head cleanly from its body.

Kazar and Meila approached and stood over the corpses while the melee fighters cleaned the gore off their blades.

Kazar scowled at Fang, who still growled from twenty feet away, having stayed out of the fight. "What's the matter, wolfie? Don't like predead meat?"

"He is not a slave," Meila snapped irritably. "Do not treat him as such."

"What? I was just asking it a question."

Fin kicked at one of the corpses that still twitched on the ground. "Kazar, can I get a light please?"

The mage grumbled, but nonetheless came closer. A moment later, a ball of flame sprang to life in his free hand, illuminating the path in flickering orange.

Finian studied the corpses, taking in the features and clothing under the various bits of gore. "They're guards and elves."

Zevran nodded. "Such people one might find working at a noble's estate, yes?"

In a sing-song voice, Kazar said, "Someone's been messing with demons."

"Alistair and Percival should have been here before us," Meila said. She, too, knelt beside the corpses, her face grim. "Something must have happened to them, to allow this."

Finian felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, because she was right. Percy.

"We have to get to the castle," Fin said, standing. "That's where Arl Eamon should be, so that's where they would have gone."

The others nodded, and they took off up the path at nearly a run.

Other clumps of undead met them on their way, but they were swiftly dispatched with a blast of lightning and a swipe of Zevran's sword. They passed a couple buildings that marked the outskirts of a village, but each was dark, probably abandoned. Then, they reached a bridge over a waterfall and stopped, staring at the stream of undead pouring down the hill in front of them.

They were about fifty feet from a fork: one path leading through a gate and up a winding hill toward the castle. The other fork led down, past a windmill, to the town proper. Going down that fork was a stream of undead—not an unmanageable horde, but certainly a steady line.

Set in front of the windmill below were a set of wooden barricades, where a rather scraggly group of defenders seemed to be holding the undead back, though barely. As Fin watched, a shambling corpse slipped through the line and shoved one defender off the cliff, only to have a knight kick it over after its victim. Bodies littered the ground around the barricades, and it was nearly impossible to tell which belonged to the undead, and which to the defenders.

"Enough of this," Kazar hissed in frustration. He stepped forward and planted his feet, then let out a vicious stream of fire that lit up the entire pathway, from barricades to gate, hitting every undead in sight down to the last. Finian had to avert his eyes from how bright it was in the night. The groans and creaks that filled the air stopped, replaced by crackling and the sounds of the burned out corpses collapsing.

A moment later, Kazar sagged against his staff, and Finian grabbed his elbow to help keep him on his feet. In the distance, they could hear the raised shouts and cheers from the defenders, and a couple of them broke through the barricades to greet them.

"Praise the Maker, Andraste answered our prayers again! Thank you!" cried one who, as far as Finian could tell in the dim light of the burning corpses, seemed to be wearing armor similar to Ser Donall's. "To what do we owe this timely arrival?"

Finian decided to go with something simple, and not too incriminating. "We're looking for two of our friends… Percival and Alistair? Do you know them?"

"The Wardens?" The knight nodded, waving a hand down toward the lake. "They left for the Circle Tower three days ago."

"They left?" Kazar said incredulously, even as he swayed. "Was this before or after the undead started taking scenic evening strolls?"

"After," the knight said uncertainly. "From what I understand, they're fetching something to stop… whatever it is that's causing these undead."

"Leaving you undefended in the meantime," Meila said grimly.

"It's not as bad now as it was before their arrival," the knight said quickly. "These attacks are manageable, at least."

"Tell that to the man who just got thrown off a cliff," Kazar grumbled.

The knight bowed his head in acknowledgement. "And our losses would no doubt have been worse if you had not intervened." He saluted. "I am Ser Perth, knight of Arl Eamon and leader of the village defenses."

"I am Finian Tabris, and these are Kazar, Meila, and Zevran. We're comrades of Alistair's and Percival's, and had hoped to find a bit of solace at Redcliffe."

"There's not much to be found here, I'm afraid. If you're with the Wardens, you'll want to talk to Bann Teagan up at the castle." He glanced up the path. "The road up there should be clear now. Once the waves stop, they rarely start again until the next night. Not that I'd expect you to have much trouble, in either case, after seeing that." He turned to look at Kazar in honest awe. "Would that we'd had you at the beginning, mage. We'd never have sustained as many losses if we had."

"Yeah, yeah," Kazar muttered, still looking drained. "I'm awesome. Tell me something I don't know."

"Thank you, Ser Perth," Finian said as the knight looked confused by the mage's response. "We'll go talk to the bann. Will you be down in the village, if we need you?"

He nodded. "Here until dawn, and then off to sleep before the next round tomorrow night. These days, most folks are sleeping down in the Chantry."

"Joy," Kazar said. "It's like Lothering all over again."

Zevran arched a brow. "Let us hope that this village does not meet a similar fate, yes? Particularly not while we are in it."

"We'll be fine," Fin said, starting up the path to the castle. Meila fell into step beside him, her eyes trained expertly on the path ahead, in case of trouble. Behind them, Kazar conjured a flame that seemed to be the only light for leagues in the gloaming.

But, it was as the knight had said; no further waves of undead came. They reached the darkened castle gates only to find the courtyard inside abandoned. The door into the castle was broken inward, the heavy lock busted off and bits of wood clawed away. Fin swallowed, but resolutely stepped through.

The white wolf had trailed after them most of the way, hackles still raised. Now, though, it completely refused to enter the building, instead electing to pace outside the door. Meila muttered something about agreeing with its distaste for stone walls, and Fin had to stifle a smile.

He took the lead as they entered the foyer, his step light and his form flitting between shadows with the practice of a city-born thief. Meila was a good scout on the road, but this was Fin's element. He heard the creak of Zevran's leather armor off to one side, and turned to catch the Crow winking at him from a nearby alcove before he slid into a shadow and disappeared.

Zevran, too, it seemed, was passing familiar with how to sneak around a noble residence.

Fin grinned, not to be outdone, and sank into the shadows behind a suit of armor: a feat that took a great deal of dexterity. Zevran's soft curse floated across the corridor, and Fin had to chuckle.

"Seriously? Must you two really do this now?" Kazar's annoyed voice said from somewhere behind them, and both rogues burst out laughing. They vacated their hiding spots, and Fin couldn't help but share a look with Zevran. The spark in the Crow's eyes promised that they'd pick up their little game later.

All the sneaking around was unnecessary, anyway, as the place seemed to be abandoned. They entered what appeared to be a throne room, though the fancy draperies were tattered, and the floor was coated in dried blood.

"There was a battle here," Meila said unnecessarily. She cast her gaze around the floor, looking for something. "But there are tracks going through the blood… something survived, and passed through this room several times afterward."

Fin asked, "Was it undead?"

"It is hard to say… though most of these tracks don't have the dragging gait of the corpses." She knelt down and traced a bootprint. "No, these are quick and steady. Someone survived."

"Can you track where they went?" Finian asked hopefully.

She nodded and stood. "This way." She headed off through the entrance opposite the one they came in.

Fin was about to follow her, but stopped when he noticed that Kazar wasn't moving. The mage was staring, wide-eyed, at one particularly large marking on the floor. From the circular shape, it looked like something had exploded there. Something bloody.

"Kazar?"

The mage started and looked up, his eyes blank. Then, he blinked and shook his head, as if dispelling some thought. "I'm coming; keep your trousers on," Kazar grumped, starting after Meila. "Who decided you could boss us around, anyway?" Still, he followed without further protest, and the three followed Meila deeper into the castle.

"I, for one, am quite happy to have Finian boss me around," Zevran chuckled. "Particularly with regards to trousers and the matter of whether they are on or not."

"Fin, can I fireball him? Just a little teeny one?"

"No, Kazar." Despite the dire circumstances, Fin had to fight not to laugh. "You cannot fireball our allies. Not without a healer on hand, anyway."

"A most practical decision, Warden," Zevran said cheerfully.

"Suck up," Kazar grumbled.

They passed down a hall, and then through another broken door and up a staircase. Here, they did run into some resistance, in the form of a pair of skeletons in guard armor who seemed to be patrolling, of all things. These enemies were dispatched easily enough.

Another corner, and they reached a room with a large, iron-lined door in one wall. Meila pointed to the door. "That is where the tracks seem to lead."

Finian wasn't surprised when he stepped forward and found the latch locked from the inside. This was a classic vault door, and would be no easy lock to break. The perfect challenge, as far as he was concerned.

He stowed his daggers and opened up his lockpicking kit at his waist. "Be ready," he advised as he knelt before the lock and got to work. "We don't know whether they'll be friendly or not."

Behind him, he heard the comforting creak of Meila drawing her bowstring, and smiled. It was dark in the castle corridors, so Finian had to operate mostly by feel. There were a good five tumblers, requiring a manual dexterity even he struggled to match. One of the tumblers was surprisingly stiff, and he broke a perfectly good pick before he found the right pressure to coax it into place.

Finally, the lock clicked into place, and Fin sighed. He wiped the sweat off his brow and glanced behind him, happy to see all three companions ready for possible attack. Settling himself into a ready crouch, he opened the door…

…and ducked as a sword nearly took his head off.

Zevran was there a moment later, sword and dagger both pressed to his rather surprised assailant's neck—an assailant dressed in guard armor. From inside the vault a man said, "Hold! It's just a couple elves!"

"Ah," Zevran chuckled, "I don't know if 'just' is a word you truly wish to qualify that sentence with."

"Easy, Zevran," Fin said, sliding into the vault to stand behind the guard who'd nearly cut a foot off his height. He glanced around the room, hoping he looked non-threatening enough not to attack on sight, but still tough enough that they'd think twice before fighting him. A difficult posture to pull off, in all honesty.

The vault was a small room, packed with shelves and armor stands. He saw a couple paintings and jewelry cases that made his fingers twitch a little, but he knew better than to snatch anything now, with a dozen eyes trained on him.

The people packed into the little room looked ragged and tired, but no less willing to put up a fight if it came to it. Half of them were guards, two were elven servants, one was a man in chain armor, and one was an elderly human woman who leaned on a cane. There were also two people of particular interest. One was a woman in the bright, shiny garb that was apparently the current fashion among the nobility. The other was a gaunt man in tattered robes who sat in one corner, his hands tied together and one guard stationed practically on top of him.

"Is one of you Bann Teagan?" Fin asked the room at large.

"That would be me," the man in chain said, stepping forward. Despite his lack of decoration, he had a certain regal bearing that spoke of nobility. Hm, maybe Daveth had had a point; nobles did have a certain way about them, didn't they? "And who, if I may be so bold, are you?"

Finian sketched a bow as he heard his companions coming in behind him. "I am Finian Tabris, and these are Meila, Zevran, and-"

"…Kazar?" That was from the gaunt man in the corner, whose eyes were suddenly very wide.

In the blink of an eye, Kazar was in motion, launching a lightning bolt at the restrained man. The man rolled out of the way, obviously having expected the shot, and managed to scramble to his feet. As soon as he was on two legs, however, frost coalesced around his ankles and grew, encasing the lower half of his body in ice.

Kazar stalked over, eyes livid, and smacked the other man soundly over the head with his staff. Then, the young elf glared.

The other man cracked an eye open. "That's it?"

"What do you mean 'that's it'?" Kazar snapped. "You want me to hit you again?"

"I'd… expected you to kill me, honestly."

"I should kill you, you son of a bitch. You almost got me made Tranquil!"

Ah. This must be his blood mage friend from the Tower

"I know," the other mage said quietly, "and I'm so sorry. I never meant for that to happen."

"You never do, Jowan," Kazar said, throwing his hands up in the air, but his temper had obviously faded to mere exasperation, so Fin didn't see the need to interrupt the reunion. "Let me guess: you have something to do with this whole mess too, right? Despite 'not meaning to'?"

"This is all his fault," hissed the woman in noble's clothing, and Fin was surprised to hear an Orlesian accent out of her. "He… he seduced my Connor with his dark magic!"

Kazar snorted and turned an incredulous look to her. "Lady, Jowan couldn't seduce a Desire Demon."

"Ouch… hurtful," Jowan said.

"Oh, deal with it you big baby."

"Perhaps," Finian said lightly, "someone should start from the beginning."

The bann cleared his throat. "I'll try as best I can." And from there, he outlined the entire situation: Connor exhibiting magic, Jowan being hired to teach him, Eamon's poisoning by said apostate… followed by Connor's possession and the manifestation of an army of undead. Both Jowan and Lady Isolde—as that was apparently the Orlesian woman's name—broke in regularly to argue their sides, but they were swiftly silenced by the bann so he could continue his relatively neutral narration.

"During the ensuing flight," Bann Teagan finished, "Connor fled, and the blood mage used his magic to free the rest of us. None of us wanted to go up and kill Connor, of course, so the only other option was suggested by the blood mage." He nodded toward Jowan, as if anyone would be confused about who he was referring to. "He suggested a ritual that would send a mage to the Fade to confront the demon, since doing so would save Connor's life. The problem was, the ritual took a life to make that happen, and neither of the Wardens were willing to allow that."

"That brute of a man wouldn't let us even try to save my Connor," Isolde said, near tears. Fin wondered who she was referring to as 'brute'.

"So," the bann interrupted quickly, "the Wardens left for the Circle Tower, to gather enough lyrium to do the ritual without taking a life. Connor stayed quiet in his room for the day… and then the attacks started again that night. We have only managed to stay alive by locking ourselves in this vault every night."

"Meanwhile," Meila said disapprovingly, "your fellows in your village fight for their lives to defend it against the creatures. It seems foolish to balk over one life when the needs of the clan are at stake."

"Yes, exactly!" Isolde cried. "I even volunteered! I would gladly give my life to save my son's!"

"You still want to?" Kazar asked, eyeing the woman thoughtfully. "Because I could do it, if you do."

At that, the woman burst into tears. "Yes! Yes, I don't want my baby to suffer any longer!"

Bann Teagan frowned. "Now, wait. Alistair and Percival could be back any day now."

"And for each of those 'any days'," Finian said calmly, "more of your men die. Each of them has families too, you know. Can you really look into their family's faces, knowing that you could have done something to save their father, their husband, or their son? All at the price of one life, freely given?"

The bann's eyes flickered with doubt.

"Wait," Kazar said, turning narrow eyes on Finian. "You're on board with this? You?"

Fin shrugged. "She wants to save the one she loves. I say she deserves to be given that chance." It wasn't untruthful.

"Uh huh… First you approve of assassination, now blood sacrifice. If you ever endorse wholesale baby slaughter, I'm checking for demonic possession. Just so you know."

"I will consider myself warned." He turned back to Teagan, making his eyes carefully earnest. Grant him the power; make it his choice, so he would be less likely to change his mind. "We won't do it without your permission, of course, my lord. But every moment you hesitate costs more innocent lives. It seems to me you've wasted so many of such moments already."

"You're… right," the bann sighed, his head hanging. "Eamon would never forgive me if I let his city fall."

"Oh, thank you Teagan!" Isolde launched herself into the man's arms, weeping. "Please, take care of them when I'm gone. I just want them to be happy and safe!"

"Jowan," Kazar said in a business-like tone, "how soon can you start the ritual?"

"Within the hour, I think." The now-thawed Jowan smiled hesitantly at his fellow mage. "Lady Isolde was most careful to keep my grimoire nearby, once she knew what I needed it for."

"And you didn't once try to take it and escape?" Kazar scoffed. "I'm rather ashamed of you. You're losing your touch."

The human shrugged, his smile teasing. "I guess Bann Teagan and Lady Isolde just don't invoke the same sort of panic that the prospect of a pissed off Kazar Surana did."

"Damn straight they don't."

Fin watched the exchange with interest. It was easy to see why the pair had been—and still were to some degree, by the looks of it—friends. Jowan's demeanor was unthreatening and soothing, which seemed to work well as a coolant for Kazar's notoriously hot temper. And still, that spark of gentle humor was exactly the sort of thing to offset Kazar's harsher cynicism.

As Fin studied Kazar—taking in his flippant remarks and the off-handed arrogance he exuded—the pickpocket came to the conclusion that the young mage was actually quite happy to see his friend. Of course, Kazar would never admit it out loud, and would likely happily turn anyone who suggested such a thing into an ice statue.